


Love Song #11 (Secretly Enamoured)

by cromarty



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Dubious Consent, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Self-Harm, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-07 22:30:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20317060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cromarty/pseuds/cromarty
Summary: Patrick turns around to face him, but doesn’t lift his eyes from the spray bottle. “It’s just, my college best friend is getting married this weekend and I have a plus one and they aren’t really up to date on the recent changes in my life and it’s kind of a rough crowd to be alone in, so I was wondering if you’d, maybe, do me a favor and be my date.”





	Love Song #11 (Secretly Enamoured)

**Author's Note:**

> **This fic requires a “dubious consent” warning and a warning of a self harm mention. Please hover over the text below for previews of the scenes.** This hovertext won't work on mobile, so the descriptions are also in the [end note](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20317060#work_endnotes).  
Hover over "link" for dubious consent details  
Hover over "link" for self-harm details  

> 
> ***
> 
> Thanks as usual to Aly and Kat for betaing, and to Aly and Em for a lot of cheerleading. The title comes from Cory Branan’s [song](https://youtu.be/ZbYxQ19sjkk) of the same title. David’s “To the Wedding” playlist [exists here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7rYN0cxghi9cQ39zMYsTxC?si=4mZjOqOLT4Gw-Aiiw6mPGw). His self-loathing playlist does not, because I couldn’t bring myself to make it, despite some great song suggestions.

"So, uh," Patrick says suddenly from where he’s studiously spritzing the produce display one Thursday morning. "I know we just opened and this is very last minute and probably the stupidest idea I’ve ever had…." 

David looks up from where he was leaning against the counter scrolling on his phone, takes in the tense line of Patrick’s (beautiful, oh God) shoulders, and tries to make an encouraging noise.

Patrick turns around to face him, but doesn’t lift his eyes from the spray bottle. "It’s just, my college best friend is getting married this weekend and I have a plus one and they aren’t really up to date on the recent changes in my life and it’s kind of a rough crowd to be alone in, so I was wondering if you’d, maybe, do me a favor and be my date." 

He finally makes eye contact with David on the word "date," and David’s stomach flips. "Mmm, okay," he smirks, trying for a joke, "are we requesting the full boyfriend experience?" 

But Patrick’s whole body flushes scarlet instantly, and David wants to sink into the floor. He’s embarrassed Patrick now, and he won’t get the chance to exorcise this inconvenient crush he’s been nursing for weeks on his straight(?) business partner(!) by pretending to be even an actual friend to him, let alone a boyfriend. 

Patrick has whipped back around and gone back to spritzing, and David thinks it’s possible they should just close the store now, three weeks after they’ve opened, and nip the inevitable decline of their (honestly, perfect) working relationship in the bud. He rubs his face, hoping to somehow rewind time, but drops his hands as Patrick clears his throat. 

The back of his neck and tips of his ears are still red, but he says, "I mean, that would be…. I wouldn’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with, but…." He seems to run out of steam, but it’s possible David hasn’t entirely ruined everything yet.

He comes around the counter and takes the spray bottle, forcing Patrick to turn, and tries for earnest. "If you want me to come with you, I will do whatever you want me to do as your date. I will be in your corner one hundred percent." 

Patrick smiles and ducks his head, glancing back at the produce. "Those are wet now," he says sheepishly. 

"Yeah, that was a lot of spritzing," David agrees. 

"I’m going to dry those off." 

David watches him fondly as he strides off to find a towel. Then he thinks about what he just agreed to, all the things that could happen pretending to be Patrick’s date, and starts to wish he could take it back, or at least ask what Patrick’s expecting. _David Rose, king of terrible, self-destructive, crush-exposing impulses, as usual,_ he thinks, and then the shopkeeper’s bell rings and he says "Welcome to Rose Apothecary!" and decides to just deal with it later. 

***

David thanks the universe with all he has that Patrick decided to leave by 4pm so he can spend nearly the entirety of Alexis’s school day pacing around deciding on outfits without interruption, and they’ll be out the door before she gets back from the clinic. He needs a car outfit, a Friday evening outfit, a wedding outfit, and a driving home outfit. And pajamas, and probably at least one extra outfit, in case they do something fancier tonight than just getting dinner somewhere casual. 

He’s decided on a dove grey suit for the wedding, because he’s not sure Patrick’s college friends can accept him _and_ a blue striped suit, let alone any of his more dramatic options. Patrick had texted him to say he’d be wearing blue (surprise, surprise) so they wouldn’t clash. At precisely 3:57, Patrick knocks on the motel room door, just as David finally zips his suitcase on the last of his decisions. Patrick makes a little face at the suitcase and garment bag, but David refuses to be shamed for coming prepared to this 3-day charade, and tips his chin up defiantly as he lifts it off the bed. Patrick, ever the gentleman, comes over and takes it from him, and then opens both the motel door and the car door for David. It’s a little bit much, actually, if only because it reminds David he’s supposed to be Patrick’s boyfriend, and the idea of pretending to be good enough to have snagged Patrick is starting to make him nervous. 

He takes a few deep breaths as Patrick puts his things in the trunk. When Patrick gets into the driver’s seat, David is about to open his mouth to ask if he’s really sure he wants David to come, but Patrick reaches down to hand him an aux cord and says, "It’s about a two and a half hour drive, do you have a good playlist?" in his most innocent but obviously teasing voice. 

"Excuse me, it’s like you don’t even know me at all! I have _three_ playlists, one for the drive there, one for the drive back, and one in case their DJ is terrible and I have to take over the reception, so buckle in, okay?" Patrick laughs as he puts the car in gear. 

"So I’m guessing I’m in for some… maybe Springsteen, some Nickelback, maybe a sprinkle of Barry Manilow?" David wrinkles his nose. 

"I don’t know what any of those things are, but I can inform you that this carefully curated playlist is in fact only female artists of the last 50 years, and the rest you will have to be surprised about." He sniffs haughtily, mostly because that’s a move guaranteed to make Patrick smile at him, and starts the playlist. 

Literally the first song is "I Think I’m in Love With You" by Jessica Simpson, and he almost skips it, feeling exposed and hoping Patrick doesn't notice, but if he skips it Patrick will realize that there’s something to notice, so he just poker faces through it as they drive towards the highway. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, this playlist is… basically all songs like that, and this might be a very uncomfortable two and a half hours for him. What if Patrick starts reading into the words of everything? Fortunately, the next song is "Genie in a Bottle," and Patrick actually exclaims "I _love_ this song!" nearly shocking David into cardiac arrest. 

"You _do_?!" he yelps. Patrick is laughing and kind of shimmying in the driver’s seat, and this might have been a mistake of a completely different kind. 

"Oh yeah, my cousins and I used to always put on talent shows in the summer, and I spent _weeks_ learning a probably too sexy dance routine to this in… 1999?... with my cousin Bridgid." 

"_Please_ tell me this was captured on video," David says, turning fully in his seat to better watch Patrick’s unconscious movements.

"Oh, I don’t think so, that particular talent show definitely ended in tears and I’m pretty sure my cousin Michael ended up with a broken arm that year, unless that was 1998." He looks over at David with a sly smile. "Maybe, if I get drunk enough at this wedding, I could see if I remember the choreography for you." David manages to laugh and turns back to the road. If that’s how this weekend is going to go, he might not make it to Monday. 

"So!" he says, falsely bright, "speaking of the wedding, who are these people I’m going to meet?"

Patrick starts to tell him about Charlie, the groom, and the various college friends who may or may not be attending, and David turns back to watch him. He’s a good storyteller, for all of his claims that he’s just a numbers guy, and he makes David laugh with his descriptions of the stupid things he did in college. They all seem so harmless compared to the stupid things David did in college, and he’s starting to think of binge drinking and pranks with fondness, watching Patrick laugh wryly. 

He realizes, about an hour and a half in, that he’s forgotten to be nervous about meeting these people, or about being at Patrick’s side for this, because Patrick makes it so easy on him. Patrick is always easy, even when he’s relentlessly teasing David for not knowing what "cow tipping" is or for assuming that Patrick’s college had in-house dry cleaning. 

A story about some sort of communal shower prank David’s only half listening to, preferring to just watch the crinkles of Patrick’s laugh lines deepen and crease, is interrupted by Patrick’s phone buzzing in the cupholder. David puts down the peanut M&Ms Patrick brought him ("to keep your blood sugar up") and picks it up when Patrick tells him to. When he asks for the passcode, Patrick starts "it’s 3-2-8-4—actually, here" and Patrick is suddenly just blindly reaching over to hold his finger down on the home button and blushing, but David’s not 100% sure why. Maybe he noticed the laugh lines thing. David’s going to have to be more careful. He looks down at the text.

"It’s from Charlie. He says ‘yo bro if you get in in time you should come to the drinks thing tonight,’ spelled T-O-N-I-T-E, who is he, honestly, ‘7pm at the Giddy Goat’ and then a _shaka emoji_. Is it too late to turn around?" Patrick rolls his eyes at David’s grimace.

"You won’t mind the Giddy Goat, David, it’s pretty nice, actually. I’m going to have to change." He’s wearing a college sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up (very wholesome), David assumed because of nostalgia. David, of course, could probably get away with going somewhere Patrick considers "pretty nice" in his normal clothes. 

"So you want to go to the ‘drinks thing’? Do you think there will be food? Because I believe I was promised dinner tonight." He had actually been hoping for room service. David has dearly missed sitting cross-legged on a hotel bed getting ketchup out of a glass bottle with a knife. 

"They serve food, and even if we don’t get some there, we can grab something before or after. I’d like to go, if you’re okay with it. It will be easier to get face time with Charlie tonight than tomorrow at the reception, probably." 

"Sure. I brought an outfit just in case, so. Now, if I recall correctly, you were talking about naked frat boys…." 

Patrick laughs and shakes his head. "Wait, while we’re talking about food, when I RSVPed, I picked one chicken, one fish for the reception. Which one do you want?" 

David wrinkles his brow. "Which one do _you_ want?"

"I’ll eat whichever. Do you want the fish? It might not be as good as Colleen’s, but chicken is usually pretty boring at these things, and I know you’re not a fan of rubbery chicken."

David tries not to look like it’s a weirdly big deal that Patrick knows that he likes Colleen’s fish even though they don’t even have a formal vendor relationship with her, and Patrick hadn’t been on his buying trip. Someday, maybe, he’d stop being surprised when he realized that Patrick actually listened to and remembered the things he said, but apparently not today.

"Um, yes, you make a convincing argument, I will have the probably delicious fish and leave you with the probably rubbery chicken. Thank you. Now, are you for some reason trying to avoid telling me more about these naked frat boys? Were they not of legal age?" Patrick shakes his head again and rolls his eyes, but picks up the thread of the story anyway.

It isn’t until they are pulling into the hotel that it seems to dawn on each of them simultaneously that the event tonight would mean they’d be debuting their boyfriends disguise earlier than expected. David is suddenly nervous again, and Patrick has quieted and is letting "No Scrubs" play without any commentary. As he parks, David finally decides to say something. "Um, so, tonight, do you want to tell me how you want to play this? Do you want to… touch? Should we talk about our story?" Patrick stays facing forward, looking out of the windshield at the wall of the hotel. 

"Um, yes, I’d like to play it by ear, I guess, but we should... touch, and maybe kiss, but not anything crazy." He’s blushing again. "As for our ‘story,’ it’s probably easiest if we don’t change anything really, other than that I got up the courage to ask you out at some point. Maybe when we were still getting the store ready to open." He finally looks at David. "Maybe that day that Alexis broke that bottle of body milk in the box, and…" David cuts him off with a groan. He remembers the day vividly, having sliced his index finger open trying to pick out the glass, and then poor Patrick had to drive him to urgent care _and_ go back and clean up a whole box of product now full of glass, moisturizer, and David’s blood. 

"Sure, okay, that terrible day." He smirks a little. "Did you kiss it and make it better? Is that how it happened?" 

Patrick blushes further, but just says "sure, David," and gets out of the car.

Patrick carries in the suitcase and his own overnight bag and leaves David with the garment bags. David, deciding to take his role seriously, stays close at check-in instead of wandering away and shifts both bags to one hand to slide an arm around Patrick’s waist as they wait at the counter. Patrick turns to smile at him, so he considers his first official act as the fake boyfriend a success. When they get up to the room, David is a little bit disappointed and a lot relieved to see it has two queen beds. He puts his things down on the one furthest from the air conditioner, and he tries to remember how great it will feel to be able to spread out for the first time in forever and not think about how strange it will be to hear Patrick’s sleep noises from the next bed instead of Alexis’s.

Patrick takes the bathroom first, quickly changing into his usual store uniform of a button down and jeans. "Do you think I should wear a blazer? Or will this be enough?" David looks him up and down appraisingly, exaggerating it for the joke, and trying not to let his eyes linger on the hollow of Patrick’s throat or his trim waist as Patrick turns side to side, hamming it up. 

"I think you’ll be fine, the jeans are a dark enough wash and a navy shirt can be evening-appropriate. I won’t have to immediately abandon you and start looking for better boyfriend options." Patrick chuckles and rolls his eyes as David slips past him to the bathroom. 

When David comes out, Patrick is sitting on the edge of the bed watching baseball, leaning forward intently. He looks so good, concentrating and focused. David sneaks glances at him all the time when he’s balancing their books or flipping through inventory sheets just to see that face. Patrick glances up at him and then actually does a double take, which might be flattering, maybe. He turns off the TV, stands up, and breathes "wow" as he takes David in, and that is _definitely_ flattering. David preens a little, but just internally, very glad he packed the nicer outfit just in case. 

"How about me," he jokes, "evening-appropriate?" He does a slow turn, making sure Patrick can see the sheen on his silver and black [silk brocade pants](https://dan-levy.com/gallery/displayimage.php?album=343&pid=11728#top_display_media). He’s paired them with a plain black cashmere sweater, slimmer cut than he’s worn in awhile, since he’s not sure this crowd is sophisticated enough for pattern mixing. When he’s completed his turn Patrick is much closer, reaching out to run a hand from David’s shoulder to his elbow. 

"This is so soft," he says, reverently. 

David has to clear his throat. "Thank you, it’s Mongolian cashmere," he says, and Patrick is still there, still stroking his arm, so he lets himself enjoy it for a second longer and then says, "So, shall we?" Patrick looks up at him and smiles, and then slides his hand all the way down from David’s shoulder to take his hand. 

"I’m ready, do you have everything?" It’s all David can do to nod, so he just lets Patrick lead him out into the night by the hand.

***

They take a cab to the unfortunately-named bar, and Patrick only slides to the middle seat when they get in, crowding David a bit up against the door. "Darling," David says, shoving a little, "I need a little more space." 

"Darling?" Patrick says, raising his eyebrows and not budging.

"What, you don’t like ‘darling,’ stud muffin?" David responds, this time going in for a wicked pinch just above Patrick’s belt that makes him yelp with laughter and finally slide across the seat. He still keeps David’s hand, though. 

When they arrive, David starts to get a little worried about his circulation. Patrick is tense and squeezing his hand in a way that is not at all enjoyable, so he pulls him aside just inside the door. "Hey," he starts, ducking his head to make eye contact and boxing Patrick in against the wall. "We can leave whenever you want. I’m following your lead entirely, so just let me know whatever you need. It’ll be fine." He tries for a reassuring smile and watches Patrick’s jaw unclench. 

"Yeah, thanks." Patrick untangles their hands and reaches up to touch David’s soft sleeve again, slowing his breathing down as he sort of pets David’s forearm. Then he nods once, places a hand at the small of David’s back, and leads him into the bar. 

They’re not very late, but a raucous cheer goes up at their approach that leads David to believe the drinking started promptly at 7. There are several shouts of "Brewsky!" and David tries not to laugh as Patrick is mobbed by three men at once, all jostling him and fake punching. _Straight people_, he thinks, trying not to roll his eyes. Patrick extricates himself and indicates David. 

"Guys, this is my boyfriend, David Rose. David, these hooligans are Adam, Mark, and Tim. They lived across the hall from me and Charlie." David smiles and shakes hands all around, noting that all three of them look surprised, but not upset, and Patrick has straightened up slightly next to him, shedding some of his nerves. 

"I’ll let you catch up and get our drinks in. Do you want a beer?" David asks. 

Patrick beams up at him."Yes, thanks." As soon as David steps away, Patrick is laughing delightedly at something Mark has said, and David can’t help but smile at the sound. 

He orders himself a Rusty Nail but they don’t have Drambuie, so he settles on a Dark and Stormy. When he weaves back to Patrick to hand him his beer, Patrick kisses his cheek and says, "Thanks, gorgeous," and David is very glad that the bar is dark so his blush isn’t so obvious. Patrick slides a hand back into the small of David’s back as they hear more about someone’s new job in publishing, and starts rubbing small circles. _Cashmere was either the perfect choice or the worst choice imaginable_, David thinks, smiling as he’s introduced to someone else’s girlfriend, who starts telling him about Patrick’s exploits in hockey and baseball. 

They separate and come together several more times, and David starts to enjoy being asked with interest what he first noticed about Patrick (truthfully? his forearms), or what their day to day is like at the store. He likes catching Patrick’s eye across the room to check in, and getting to watch him talk to his friends from afar. 

Each time they circle back together, Patrick can’t seem to stop touching him, especially after the third time fresh drinks are pressed into their hands. He’s got an arm fully around David’s waist now, stroking at the silk brocade over his hipbone, and it’s all David can do to follow the thread of the conversation enough to react appropriately. 

He finally slips out of Patrick’s hold at a lull in the conversation and says "I’ll be right back, sugar" into Patrick’s ear, looking for the fond eye roll he’s expecting by now before walking away. He’s tried "dreamboat" and "tiger" as well, and Patrick just looks exasperated but amused each time. Patrick, unfortunately, has gone for "gorgeous" again, as well as “handsome,” and once, loudly, “angelfish.” Angelfish was kind of funny, but David’s not sure he can take many more gorgeous and handsomes, especially as they both get tipsier. 

He cools down a bit in the washroom and then works his way back slowly, stopping to chat with some people he met nearly an hour ago.

“Oh, David, sweetheart,” an overly familiar girl he’s pretty sure is named Kate says, “I can’t believe how different Patrick is tonight. We’re just so glad to finally see him so happy!” 

“Um, well, it makes me pretty happy to see him happy, too,” David says, not sure what “finally” means, but assuming it has something to do with Patrick’s abrupt arrival in Schitt’s Creek two months ago.

“It’s just, after all those years with Rachel,” Kate continues, “we weren’t sure he was ever going to find anyone who really suited him, after he broke off the engagement. How’d you meet?” 

“Oh,” David says, processing fast with a not very clear head. “Well, I just got lucky, I guess. I needed to fill out papers for a business I was starting, and he was there.”

“Oooh,” another woman in the group says loudly, “was it love at first sight?” Clearly, David should be drunker. This would be easier then, probably. 

“Um, actually, I thought he was kind of a jerk.” This gets a big laugh, and a girl coming back from the bar with a tray of shots passes him two, so he warms to the theme. “He was not very nice to me in that first meeting, or actually in general at first, he kept saying how much help I needed. But he didn’t think I couldn’t do it. He thought it was a really good idea, actually, our business, and he helped me actually make it happen. He’s really good at practical, businessy things.” 

“That’s our Patrick,” Kate says, “boring old buttoned-down Patrick.” She says it fondly, but David bristles.

“He’s not boring, he’s perfect!” he blurts, making them all laugh again. “He’s exactly what the store needed. He’s so good at the parts that are hard for me, and he’s so confident that we’ll be a success. Everyone likes him, all our customers, and he’s so good with people. It’s so easy with him. Nothing’s easy for me, really, I’m too bitchy and impatient, but he’s so calm and friendly and put together, and….” He trails off, embarrassed, because they’ve all started “awwwing” loudly. Kate actually reaches out to pat his cheek, and he flinches away, directly back into Patrick. 

“Whoa, hey, beautiful, are you okay?” Patrick catches him with an arm around the waist and turns him, holding his hips in both hands and quirking an eyebrow to check in. 

“We were just talking about how smitten you are with each other, Patrick, it’s adorable,” says Kate, and David’s really had enough of her now. 

“Can we go sit down?” he asks, and Patrick immediately pulls him away towards some low couches and guides him into the corner.

“Are you okay, really?” he asks, concern bleeding into his voice. David can smell that Patrick has also had some shots, but he’s more distracted by the fact that Patrick is bracing a hand on David’s thigh as he leans towards him.

“Yes, yeah, A-okay,” he stammers, and Patrick smiles, slow and fond again.

“We can go, if you want, I’ve talked to Charlie plenty.” Patrick’s hand is sliding slightly on the silk of David’s pants, and if it gets any higher, David might be in trouble. “You know, I heard from a few people that you’re quite a hit at this party, baby,” he says, low and warm, and David sucks in air, but can’t seem to get enough. Patrick keeps glancing down at David’s lips, and David’s not sure what to do about that. 

“I…” he starts, as Patrick seems to sway slightly closer, “I just wanted you to have a good time.” 

“Oh, I am,” Patrick says, “you’re the best date I’ve ever had, so far.” 

_Fuck it_, David thinks, and leans in. 

It starts chaste and closed-mouthed, because David wants this, but he doesn’t want to spook Patrick. He slides a hand up Patrick’s cheek, but when his thumb brushes Patrick’s ear, Patrick gasps and licks at the seam of David’s lips. _Oh!_ David thinks, stupidly, and opens his mouth. There’s electric little chills running up and down his arms now, and they are definitely doing what can only be described as “making out” in the dark corner of this bar. Patrick keeps getting closer and he’s almost in David’s lap, now, and he’s absolutely dismantling David with his tongue, and with the hand high on David’s thigh, thumb pressing into the crease of David’s hip. David’s body is on fire. Patrick is killing him.

“Get a room!” someone yells, and they break apart. Patrick laughs, bashful again with the reminder of their audience. He pulls David up off the couch and waves towards the bar. They head out into the night to grab a cab, and David isn’t sure he could describe what he’s feeling right now if someone asked him. The kiss was amazing, but Patrick was almost certainly just messing around, selling it for his friends, who all apparently think they’re adorable. Patrick is playing with David’s rings, shivering a bit after the heat of the bar, and suddenly David can’t really take it anymore. 

“What about dinner?” he says, in Old David’s worst, bitchiest voice, and pulls his hand back. 

“Oh, shit, yeah, I’m starving. Sorry. There used to be a good Thai place down there, do you want to walk?” Patrick gestures right and then reaches out for David again, so David strides past him. 

There is indeed a Thai place half a block down, and as they eat David turns back on party David, funny and a little mean, so he can get through Patrick’s desired play-by-play of the night, and what all his old friends are doing. The food is good, but the whole thing just makes him tired in a way he hasn’t been in years, and he’s very glad Patrick seems to sense that and leaves him alone this time in the cab back to the hotel. 

They brush their teeth next to each other, but David keeps his eyes on his own reflection. Let Patrick think he’s vain, he probably already does. If David could brush his teeth with his eyes closed, he would. He lets Patrick have the bathroom to himself while he turns down his own bed, and then goes back in to do his skin care routine. He thinks about the process and not at all about Patrick’s pajamas, or extremely hot pretend kisses, or fake boyfriends, or “perfect,” or “beautiful,” or Patrick’s hand rubbing circles in the small of his back. When he gets under the covers, Patrick puts his book down and turns out the light. 

“Was it okay, tonight, did you have a good time?” Patrick asks, voice quiet across the space between the beds. “Were they nice to you when I wasn’t there?”

_Were they nice to you?!_ David thinks, and feels his eyes start to tear. “Yeah, they were nice, it was fine,” he whispers. He waits a bit to see if Patrick is going to say anything else, but then finally decides he has to ask. “Patrick,” he whispers, “who is Rachel?”

There’s silence from the other bed for a bit, and then Patrick sighs. “Rachel and I dated off and on since high school. We broke up before I moved to Schitt’s Creek, for the last time. Why, what did they say about her?” He sounds resigned, and maybe a little sad, or just frustrated, it’s hard for David to tell in the dark.

“Not much, they just mentioned that she was your last relationship, that’s all.” 

“I’m sure that’s not all they said, David. Everyone in that room had opinions on me and Rachel, and they’ve never kept them to themselves before. They just… it’s hard to see things from the outside, right? It’s hard to see things from the inside, sometimes. I tried hard, with Rachel, but nothing ever felt right with her. It took me a long time to understand why.” He goes quiet again, leaving David thinking _why?!_ in his loudest, most painfully hopeful inner voice. Patrick sighs again, and sits up, but doesn’t turn on the light. “It took me a long time to understand myself, David, and I’m still working on it. And these friends, I love them, but they don’t really understand me either. So thank you.”

David also sits up, in surprise. “For what?”

“I don’t know, for not knowing me before a few months ago? And also for tonight. You were really great, tonight, David.”

He absolutely knows it’s the wrong thing to say, but it’s out of David’s mouth before he can stop it. “The kiss was that good?”

But Patrick laughs his _you’re ridiculous, David_ laugh, and says, “Yeah, it was… pretty good. I’ve never done that before, with a guy, actually, so thank you for making that happen for us.” 

“Well... um… fortunately, I’m a very generous person,” David lies, and Patrick huffs another laugh and flops back down on the bed. 

“Goodnight, David,” he says, soft and fond.

“Goodnight, Patrick,” David whispers, and then lies back down to stare at the dark ceiling and wonder what that conversation was really about.

***

“I think you should call Brenda, baby, those new moisturizers have been selling out pretty fast,” Patrick is saying as he hands David his plate of pancakes and drops a kiss on his forehead. David slips an arm around his waist before he can get too far away and rubs his sleepy face into Patrick’s pajama t-shirt. Patrick chuckles, carding his fingers through David’s hair and then tilting his face up so Patrick can lean down and kiss him. They kiss for long, syrupy stretches of time, David forgetting completely about the breakfast he’s not eating and the phone call he should be making, sinking down into the sweet golden warmth of Patrick. Eventually, hours or days later, Patrick pulls back and says, “David, I told her you would, are you really going to make a liar out of your poor husband?” David feels a glittering thrill run through him at the word, and lets his smile take over his whole face, slow and easy. 

“I would never tarnish my husband’s sterling reputation. My husband is an honest, forthright, gorgeous, sexy, amazing man I was lucky enough to trick into marrying me. I’m not about to screw that up.” Patrick grins at him and climbs into his lap, pulling him back in for more slow, sweet kisses.

A car honks in the parking lot and David’s eyes spring open. _Fuck_, he thinks. _What the fuck was that fucking dream? I am so fucked_. A sex dream he could understand. A sex dream makes so much sense. David spends a lot of time in the store trying not to look at Patrick’s ass and his forearms and his unbelievable long pale neck, habitually exposed and begging for dark hickeys. Not to mention he spent most of last night being maddeningly stroked by Patrick over various parts of his body. A sex dream about Patrick would be utterly excusable and normal. But a marriage dream? A “my husband made me breakfast” dream?

_ Fuck_, he thinks again, _this is a problem. I’ve got it **bad**_. As he scrubs his hands over his face he hears the key in the door and suddenly realizes Patrick’s not in bed. As he sits up, Patrick comes in quietly. 

“Oh, I didn’t know if you’d be awake. I just went for a run,” he explains in a whisper, like he’s still trying to keep from waking David. He’s wearing running shorts and David is unexpectedly confronted with Patrick’s legs, which until this moment he hasn’t seen. They’re pale and well-muscled, with pretty intense quads. _Hockey_, David thinks, _and baseball. I bet he could lift me_. He shifts farther up the bed so he can sit against the headboard and bunch the blanket in his lap. Patrick is sweaty and still breathing a little bit heavier than normal, and his hair is as messy as such a short style can get, and it’s honestly unfair that David is expected to look at all of this and keep his hands to himself. 

“Um,” he starts, and then has to clear his throat before he can get anything else out. “You can have the shower first.” 

“Thanks,” Patrick smiles. “Did you sleep okay?” 

“Yeah, yes. I had a weird dream, but yes.” 

Patrick smiles at him again and then grabs the Rose Apothecary dopp kit from his overnight bag and heads into the bathroom. David sits very still and wills himself not to think about the fact that he knows what Patrick will smell like when he gets out of the shower because David is the one who put that dopp kit together for him. It doesn’t matter what he looks like or smells like or pretend-kisses like. David is Patrick’s partner and friend, and Patrick asked him for his help for this weekend, and he is going to help him. If it means he has to give his “heart and his parts,” as Dad would say, a stern talking to every now and then, that’s just what he’ll have to do. Thinking about his Dad has fixed his earlier issue and the shower has just shut off, so David gets up to collect his things as the door opens.

“Your turn,” Patrick says, standing there in just a towel with his workout clothes bunched against his chest. David grabs his garment bag and holds it between them like a shield as he slides past Patrick to the bathroom, but it doesn’t keep him from feeling the steamy heat rising off Patrick’s skin or noticing the pink flush on his (seriously, just asking to be touched) shoulders.

When David emerges from the bathroom, dressed in everything but his shoes, tie, jacket, and jewelry, Patrick is sitting in the desk chair in his dress shirt and pajama pants, lifting the final cloche off of an enormous room service breakfast spread. David actually gasps, and then ducks his head, embarrassed, when Patrick looks up at him through his lashes like he knows exactly what he’s done. 

“I ordered a little bit of everything, but I weighted it towards pancakes and waffles. We got lucky, I got it in under the wire. They stop serving breakfast at noon,” he says, warm and fond and teasing. David doesn’t want to let the food get cold but he also feels like maybe he should go back into the bathroom for a minute, because how is he supposed to handle this? Instead, he just closes his eyes and leans back, takes a cleansing breath, and then opens his eyes to discover that Patrick is standing in front of him. “I thought this would help,” Patrick says, and reaches up to tuck a cloth napkin into David’s collar, his fingers brushing the skin of David’s throat. David swallows and then coughs. “You get started, I’m going to get ready.” Patrick steps around him and takes his garment bag into the bathroom, and for the second time already today David is sitting on the bed willing his body to calm down so he can get through this. How is this so much worse than the store every day? He handles that just fine. 

He’s halfway through a plate of half pancakes and half waffles when Patrick reemerges and David has to swallow very quickly to avoid choking. He’s up and across the room before he’s noticed. 

“When you said ‘blue suit’ I assumed something navy!” David exclaims. “This is beautiful! This is such a fine-grain wool!” Patrick chuckles and David realizes he’s reached out and is petting the lapel of Patrick’s jacket to check the texture. 

“Uh, thank you. I’ve worn the same light grey suit to the last three weddings and I felt like it was time to invest in something a little less… conservative.”

“This is… where did you get this?” He’s physically turning Patrick so he can check the fit, the placement of the sous-bras, whether Patrick’s ass looks as good as it should, and Patrick is now giggling delightedly at David’s reaction. “How much did it cost?!” David demands, and then realizes he probably shouldn’t have.

“You’re going to be so disappointed, David, it’s from [Suit Supply](https://patrickredactedbrewer.tumblr.com/post/624228748417433600/my-old-suitsupply-link-for-love-song-11-secretly), and it cost me $600.” Patrick is smirking.

“$600?!”

“Well, I know, it’s a lot, but it was on sale, and I decided it was a bit of an investment in the new Patrick. David, I’m getting dizzy.” David stops turning him and takes his hands away, moving to put the bed between them. “You haven’t actually said what you think. Do I look okay?” Patrick asks, his smirk slipping into something much more nervous and unsure.

“You look… amazing,” David breathes, too certain of the truth of the statement to be embarrassed by it. “You look so, so good, Patrick.” He’s still looking at Patrick’s compact, muscular body and all that almost cobalt blue wool, but he remembers to look back up at Patrick’s face and finds him smiling, a small, warm, fond thing David doesn’t think he’s seen before. It makes his breath catch, and he has to look away. Luckily, his eyes find his abandoned breakfast, and he clears his throat and says, “We shouldn’t let all this food get cold.” 

“Okay, David.” 

Patrick eats standing up, so as not to crease his trousers, he says, but David’s not a complete idiot, he knows he’s sitting in the only chair. He finishes quickly and tells Patrick to sit down, so he can go finish getting ready. As he ties his tie in the bathroom mirror he thinks about his ridiculous dream. He knows this will be one of the stupidest things he’s ever done, and David has done a lot of stupid things for attention, but he can still feel the places where Patrick’s fingers touched his throat, so he leaves his tie crooked. Being ashamed of your behavior is just part of being David Rose, there’s no changing it now. When he comes back out of the bathroom, Patrick’s reaction is almost as gratifying as last night.

“Wow, David,” he breathes again, but then his face turns mischievous and he says “how much did it cost?”

“Okay, thank you, I _do_ [look very nice](https://www.veronicagraye.com/celebrity#/bello/), everyone’s going to be very jealous of your taste in boyfriends, and you do _not_ want to know the answer to that, but it’s more than $600 and it was not ‘on sale.’” He’s sketched big, sarcastic air quotes with his hands for that last bit, and Patrick, smiling, comes over to catch them out of the air.

“You do, you’re right. It was worth the money, for sure.” He tilts his head right and then left. “Your tie’s a little crooked, though. Not the famous David Rose attention to detail I’ve come to expect.”  
And then he rewards that famous, stupid, selfish David Rose attention to detail by adjusting it, with his beautiful serious concentration face right up close to David’s. Patrick steps back, appraising, running his hands again over David’s shoulders and down his arms, then nods firmly once. “What about me, any last minute fixes?” David lets himself look for a long time, tweaking his pocket square slightly, brushing a bit of lint away from a shoulder, and adjusting Patrick’s perfectly straight tie. 

“There,” he finally says, “perfect,” and watches in half delight and half shame as Patrick blushes under his gaze. 

***

The wedding itself is prettier than David expected. It’s out on the surprisingly lovely lawn behind the hotel that backs up to an extensive cherry orchard, and David makes a mental note for spring. He and Patrick sit about halfway back on the groom’s side, and Patrick holds David’s hand again and points out some people David didn’t meet last night, murmuring things into David’s ear until the ceremony starts. 

It’s a warm afternoon, and David blames the fact that his palm starts to sweat in Patrick’s hand on that, and not watching Charlie stand nervously at the front of the seats and then break into the most enraptured smile when he sees his bride start down the aisle. No one has ever looked at David like that in his entire life, not even people who were high out of their minds or people he was actively having sex with at the time. He slips his hand out of Patrick’s again, but he can’t get very far away, because Patrick just moves his arm to rest along the back of David’s chair instead. 

David hasn’t been to any weddings as an adult, but he’s seen a lot of them in the movies, so he’s hardwired to find this more emotional than he wants to. They’re doing what Patrick has informed him in a whisper is the government-provided standard ceremony, but it still sounds beautiful. At one point, Patrick whispers, “This the good part,” and David realizes Patrick has already started to tear up in anticipation. 

The officiant begins, “Do you, Charles, undertake to afford to Ashley the love of your person, the comfort of your companionship, and the patience of your understanding; and to share equally of the necessities of life as they may be earned or enjoyed by you; to respect the dignity of her person, her own inalienable personal rights, and to recognize the right of counsel and consultation upon all matters relating to the present or the future of the household established by this marriage?” 

_God, I wish that was me_, he thinks, and then blinks hard. He’s never wished to be married before. He blames Patrick. Stupid, sweet, perfect Patrick, who is now running his fingers absently up and down the part of David’s shoulder he can reach with his arm wrapped around David. Sarcastic, organized, stubborn, competent, culturally illiterate, dependable, unfashionable, capable, teasing, beautiful, amazing Patrick. Patrick, who is maybe not straight after all, but also not actually into David, because how could he be? 

“David,” Patrick whispers, and he looks over to see that Patrick is holding out a packet of tissues, because there’s tears just rolling down David’s face now, frustratingly. Patrick’s eyes are wet too, and he’s smiling that new smile from this morning. David snatches a tissue out of the pack and turns away slightly. His breathing is starting to get a bit out of control, and he really needs to leave. It’s too hot, and he can’t really breathe, and if he doesn’t get this under control he is about to make an embarrassing scene, because he’s only known Patrick for seven weeks and that is way too short of a time to be fantasizing about being his forever, especially when David isn’t even actually his now. 

He clenches his right fist so Patrick can’t see it next to his thigh and tries to pay attention to the sensation of his nails digging into his palm, but it’s not enough. He reaches up and unfastens his silver tie tack and palms that instead, squeezing until he stops hearing the vows and Patrick’s quiet but emotional breath next to him. He squeezes until his breathing slows and his eyes dry and then unclenches his fist and transfers the tissue still in his other hand to take care of the pinprick of blood. By the time the ceremony ends, he’s as composed as he can be, but he still excuses himself immediately.

“I’m going to head back up to the room, I have to call Brenda about the next delivery, I forgot. Stay down here and talk to your friends, I’ll come back before the drinks start.” He squeezes Patrick’s shoulder in apology.

“Okay, David. Text me if you need me,” Patrick says, rising on his toes a bit to kiss David’s temple. David can’t escape fast enough. He does go back up to the room and paces, but it’s too small of a space and he doesn’t want to crease his trousers any more than they already are. He pulls out his phone and dials on instinct.

“Don’t tell me, the small business seminar is too boring and you need me to come pick you up?” Stevie’s voice starts to cut through his panic a bit almost instantly.

“I’ve made a horrific mistake,” he starts, but she cuts him off immediately.

“David, I know you worry, but I do not feel like you’re cheating on me just because you’re at another hotel. I know you haven’t always been a one woman man. In fact—” she’s warming to this theme, and David feels like he might throw up, so he loses a bit of control.

“_Shut up and listen to me!_ I have made a huge mistake, and I’m not at a business seminar. I’m at a wedding with Patrick, because he looked at me with his sad Carebear eyes and asked me to pretend to be his date, and I thought I could do it but it turns out I cannot do it at all, because he keeps touching me, and I’m not a good enough person for this, I’m a shit person, and I just want to _fuck_ him, and he doesn’t want that from me!” So much for getting his breathing slowed back down.

“David,” Stevie says, as concerned as he’s ever heard her, “are you seriously at a wedding as Patrick’s date?”

“His _fake_ date! His fake fucking prop boyfriend, yes, I am, were you not listening?!” 

“Ooookay. I’m going to need you to back up. When did Patrick ask you to be his date for this wedding, and what did he actually say?” 

David thinks back to the store, and the “is this a picture of Mary-Kate or Ashley” quiz he was taking. “He said he had a stupid idea, and did I want to be his date for this wedding.” 

“That… okay. What did you say?”

“I made a joke about the full boyfriend experience and then told him I would be okay with pretending to be his date. But the _point_ is that it turns out I am actually not okay with it, Stevie!”

“David, what I am hearing from your no doubt completely accurate recreation of events is that Patrick finally asked you on a date, and you said you would pretend to date him.”

“I—” he pauses. “What do you mean, ‘finally’?”

“David!” Stevie sounds much more like normal Stevie now. “Patrick has obviously been trying to get up the courage to ask you on a date for weeks. It’s not his fault he’s fresh out of the closet and finds you intimidating. Now he probably thinks you don’t actually want to date him, when I know for a _fact_ that you do!”

“I do not!” David yelps reflexively.

“David, you started this phonecall with ‘oh his beautiful eyes, oh he keeps touching me, oh I want to fuck him, oh woe is me’! You can’t pretend you don’t want him like that.” 

_I don’t want him like that. What I want is so much worse_, David thinks.

“Fine, say you’re right and he does like me. What am I supposed to do now that I’ve ruined this?”

“Well, you could try asking him that, but since I doubt you actually will, maybe just try being nice to him?”

“Excuse me, I am very nice, I have been being nice to him this whole time. You’re no help at all. I’m hanging up on you.” 

“Fine, whatever. No, wait! Don’t hang up, you need to hear what Roland did to your Dad yesterday!”

David wanders around the hotel room and lets her voice wash over him. He’s not planning on saying it out loud, ever, but it’s possible Stevie’s his best friend. He managed to sleep with her and not ruin things, so maybe dating Patrick wouldn’t ruin things either. Maybe they could still work together when Patrick eventually decided he didn’t want David anymore. If he actually wanted David now, that is. No matter what Stevie says, David is not convinced. He thinks back to his resolution this morning to be a good friend to Patrick. It almost worked last night, but David was irresponsible and got drunk and let his own stupid feelings take over. He’s just going to have to not drink at all tonight and keep his mind sharp. His phone buzzes in his hand and there’s a text from Patrick.

“Stevie, I have to go, the reception is starting soon and I still have to call a vendor.”

“Okay, have fun tonight, and don’t do anything gross, or if you do, I don’t want to hear about it!”  
She hangs up on him before he can answer, and he rolls his eyes and calls Brenda. 

As he’s wrapping up with Brenda and checking his hair in the bathroom mirror, Patrick comes back into the room to find him. He lets David finish the call and then joins him at the sink. 

“Were you on with Brenda that whole time?” he asks as he adjusts his tie.

“I talked to Stevie too, apparently Roland almost killed my dad, but I’m not really sure how, even after the 30 minute ‘short version’ of the story. Did I miss anything?”

“Mostly just milling around. I think a lot of people went back up to their rooms for naps. I heard a lot of big talk about being out there until the hotel shuts it down at 4am.” 

“I hope you’re not expecting that from me because that sounds like my nightmare, and I eventually will abandon you to sneak back up here and sleep in this nice big bed all by myself. I might even order room service again.”

“I always loved room service when I was a kid. I liked it when they’d bring you the small glass ketchup bottles,” Patrick says, wandering back out of the bathroom. David frowns sternly at himself in the mirror and then steps out of the bathroom and says, “Shall we?” again in his most chipper voice.

The sit down dinner is actually delicious, especially if you’re used to eating in Schitt’s Creek, and David enhances their adorable couple image by stealing almost half of the food off of Patrick’s plate, including the decidedly not rubbery chicken. Patrick pretty much just lets him, arm around the back of David’s chair again, easing his access, except when he gets around to Patrick’s roast potatoes. “Absolutely not, gorgeous,” he says in a low, firm voice that David would like to hear a lot more of if possible. “I’m eating those.”

“Okay, but you’re not, though, are you waiting for them to get cold, or something?”

“Actually, I was taking my time with them,” Patrick says, leaning closer into David’s body until David can feel his breath on his face. “I was savoring them, instead of rushing, so that I could really enjoy them the way I wanted to.” David shivers involuntarily, knowing that Patrick can feel it where his chest is pressed into David’s shoulder. Patrick chuckles, still low and possibly a bit filthy, if David isn’t just making it up, and then presses a kiss to David’s cheek and turns back to his meal. Patrick never does eat the rest of the potatoes, but neither does David.

By the time the speeches are over and the band starts the first dance, Patrick is comfortably drunk. It’s possibly David’s fault for eating most of his dinner, but he’s definitely past tipsy, and the night is still young. He’s leaning into David, an arm around his waist inside of David’s jacket, tearfully watching the couple sway to “It Had To Be You” and swaying slightly himself. Out of the corner of his eye, David catches the wedding photographer aiming her camera at them, and he feels torn between wanting to frame this picture and wanting to wrench his body away from Patrick’s and ruin it. He settles for stroking the hair above Patrick’s ear and using the hand he has cupped around the back of Patrick’s head to tilt his face up. “Patrick,” he whispers, but then has to take a second to remember what he was going to say, because Patrick is just beaming up at him with tears in his eyes. David blinks and then says, “I’m going to go get you a glass of water, okay?” A tear rolls down Patrick’s cheek, and he nods.

“You’re so… I just… okay, David.” David rolls his eyes fondly at this confusing near sentence, but is gentle about untangling himself. The night is beautiful, and the hotel lawn looks a little bit magical with a dance floor laid down on it and café lights swaying overhead. He leans against the bar and watches Patrick, still swaying in time with the music, standing on the edge of the dance floor and crying because his friend is married. _What a sap_, he thinks. Everyone claps at the end of the song, and the band transitions into “Shout!” and suddenly everyone is filling the floor, and he can see Patrick whoop joyfully and start thrashing around with his dorm buddies. So much for getting some water into him in a calm moment. David brings it back over anyway, and watches from the edge of the floor until the next slow song, when he can snag Patrick and sit him down at a nearby table. “Dance with me, David!” Patrick whines, but David stands firm on the water consumption being a condition of his participation, so he gets a good glass and a half into Patrick before being pulled out to the floor for “Everlasting Love.” 

Patrick is a terrible dancer, but he’s having so much fun that David gets sucked in, forgetting for the moment that other people can actually see them. He pulls David close for every slow dance and presses his sweaty temple into David’s jaw. The band is not bad, and David comments as much during a particularly nice rendition of “You Send Me.” 

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees, “I think Charlie knew them through someone we used to be in a band with right after college.” 

“You were in a band with Charlie? You never told me that.” David is pretty sure, anyway, unless it was while he was watching Patrick’s face more than listening to a story in the car.

“We started it sophomore year, and we kept it going for about a year after we graduated. We were okay, but we were mostly just messing around, playing open mic nights and early bar slots.” 

“What was your band called?” David hopes it’s something truly embarrassing. 

“We changed a couple of times, but mostly we were ‘Static Hope’, which was almost entirely Charlie’s idea.” Something about Patrick’s face makes David think that’s a lie, but he lets it go. 

A few songs later, David’s phone buzzes in his pocket where it’s pressed up against Patrick’s hip, and Patrick bursts into giggles. Abruptly, the whole thing is too much again, so David lets him go and pulls it out. It’s a text from Stevie, probably drunk herself at this point, with a lot of suggestive emojis. David darkens the screen with extreme prejudice, and doesn’t let a still giggling Patrick drag him back in. “I have to go do something about this, sorry,” David lies, with an exaggerated apologetic frown. He leaves Patrick heading over to invite someone’s grandmother to take a spin around the floor and walks out into the night. 

Away from the lights and the crush of people on the dance floor, the night is almost cold. David stands at the edge of the cherry orchard and tries to make his mind blank. There’s no point in thinking about it anymore, seesawing the way he has the whole weekend between wanting Patrick and wanting to protect Patrick from the mess that is David Rose. He wishes he still smoked so he could do something with his hands as he looks out into the rustling dark of the cherry trees. He takes off his tie tack again, but just rolls it over and over in his fingers, passing it back and forth between his hands. He looks up and counts stars for a while to distract himself. He’s up to 607 when he hears Patrick’s quiet voice saying “David?” from behind him. 

Patrick steps up next to him and nudges him with his shoulder. “Are you okay? You disappeared.” 

“Yeah, I just needed to cool down.” Patrick reaches for his hand and squeezes it, and David can’t help but hiss at the pain. Patrick raises his hand to peer at it in the dark, turning him back towards the lights of the party.

“What did you do to your hand, David?! This looks awful.” 

“It’s fine, I just… bruised it, earlier. It’s not a big deal.” Patrick looks up at him seriously, and then, without breaking eye contact, raises David’s palm to his lips and kisses it gently. 

“There, beautiful. All better. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll go find you some ice. They must have some at the bar I can borrow.” He grins up at David and curls David’s fingers over the kiss he left on his palm, then lets go to head towards the bar. David follows him slowly, heavy with the weight of ever being good enough to deserve getting to know Patrick. He’s been trying his best to guard his heart this whole time, but he lets another sliver of hope work its way in. Maybe, in the dark, away from the audience of friends, Patrick actually meant that “beautiful,” that sweet, ridiculous kiss. Maybe David might actually get to have something nice, however briefly. 

As he gets close to the dance floor again, someone actually grabs him by the arm, and he turns to find Kate. “Oh, David, sweetheart,” she says again, as he tries to politely but firmly twist his arm out of her grasp.

“Hello, are you enjoying the party? Oh, I’m sorry,” he fakes a half wave over her shoulder. “Left Patrick alone by the bar, I have to—” 

“Oh, true, you should probably be paying attention to that,” she says, nodding seriously.

“I… what?” David isn’t sure whether she means in general or something less benign.

“Oh, just, I’m sure he’s told you, but our Patrick’s never been what I would call a ‘problem drinker,’ but there have been times when we were a little concerned….” she trails off like she’s expecting David to thank her for keeping him alive all those years or something. He’s pretty sure his mouth is just hanging open stupidly, but luckily Patrick jogs up to them and saves him from having to answer.

“Hey! They gave me a cup of ice but I’m not sure you’re going to be able to do anything with it without getting it all over your suit. Hi, Katie.” Whoops, good thing David’s never attempted her name. 

“Hi, Pat. Your boyfriend was starting to get worried you’d been at the bar too long!” David glares at her as he leans in to take the wine glass of ice and kiss Patrick’s cheek. 

“Thank you, Patrick.”

“Did you miss me, David?” Patrick asks, teasing, and seemingly ignoring Katie’s implication.  
David rolls his eyes. “It’s just that ouch, my hand, it might fall off at any moment, is all,” he deadpans. Patrick smirks at him and leans up to kiss him, running his fingers over David’s hand where it rests on the table. Just as their lips are about to meet, Katie lets out a loud “awwww,” and David jerks back, annoyed.

Patrick clears his throat and tries the same tack David had. “Are you having a good time, Katie?”

“Oh, sure, it’s great, I love an open bar. I was just thinking, I bet you’re glad you have David so Rachel will finally stop texting you to get back together. I tried to tell her it couldn’t possibly keep working, but I guess when you’re lonely, you’re lonely!” She laughs, but Patrick is clenching his jaw, and David is thinking about dumping the glass of ice down her dress. 

“Well!” he says, loudly, leaving the ice on the table at her elbow and taking Patrick’s hand. “We’re going to get in a little more dancing, Katie, and let you get back to the bar!” He tows Patrick behind him into the middle of the dance floor.

They dance through two faster songs before “Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You” begins and David is able to pull Patrick closer and ask him. “I assume Katie is lonely herself, and Rachel hasn’t been constantly texting you?”

Patrick is looking out over David’s shoulder when he answers. “She said that because that’s how we’ve gotten back together, the other times. Stupid little games. Rachel will text a string of nonsense and then say ‘oh, oops, my phone was unlocked in my purse, but how are you?’ or I’d wake her up at 3am drunk dialing her and pretend I was trying to call a ride. Childish, dumb things.” He sounds annoyed, but David can’t tell if it’s at David for asking or himself for past mistakes.

“And now?”

“Yeah, now. She left me alone for like a month, but these past few weeks she’s done the purse thing, and texted to tell me she saw my mom at the grocery store, and asked me if I’m really sure I don’t want the engagement ring back. Like I’m someone who would—it was a gift! And it’s not like I need the money.” He’s clenching his hands in the back of David’s suit jacket, so David tries frantically to think of a joke. 

“Well, if she did give it back we could invest it in the store, or maybe you could get a very nice… baseball… thing?” Not his best attempt, but Patrick is at least not looking quite so pinched. 

“A baseball thing? What, like a glove? A field? A team? How much money are you assuming I dropped on this, David? Or were you hoping I’d say ‘oh, wow, David, what a good idea, I should use the money to sponsor a Rose Apothecary team, you can be the shortstop, or maybe the mascot’?” David, trying to indulge him, takes the bait.

“What’s a mascot? Is that the thing with a costume? Because… do you know what a furry is, Patrick?” Patrick bursts into laughter, and David twists his face up trying to contain his own smile. So Patrick is just trying to make Rachel stop texting him after all, at least David gets to make him laugh while being used to win the breakup. Patrick’s good humor restored, they take another break to get fresh drinks. Patrick gets roped into taking multiple shots, which conveniently allows David to discreetly order himself his third club soda with lime of the evening. 

“Friend of Bill?” the bartender asks, sympathetically. “Rough crowd for that. Good for you, man.” David decides not to correct him, and puts a $20 in the tip jar to make up for the fact that this guy also has to serve Katie, and the frat bros sucking down shots three feet away. 

His own frat bro is in intense whispered consultation with the groom, but sees him looking and pulls him back out to the floor. After a few more songs David, increasingly worried for the shine on his shoes as the shots really begin to hit Patrick, asks for another break. They stand for a while near a table and watch, leaning against each other. 

“I have to do a thing with the groom,” Patrick says into his ear, letting his lips brush David’s face. 

“Okay,” David says into his club soda. “I’m going to hit the washroom and freshen up my drink one more time, I’ll be back.” Patrick hasn’t moved, still looking intently at David, so David leans in and kisses his cheek. “Go do your thing, I’ll be right back.” Patrick hums, pleased, and turns around slightly unsteadily to head towards where Charlie and Ashley are whispering, wrapped up in each other. 

When David walks back out to the reception area, someone very good has taken over from the house band. He recognizes Otis Redding’s [“These Arms of Mine”](https://youtu.be/aUaO50nWnvg) before he recognizes what must be Patrick’s voice. David’s heard him humming around the store, and just yesterday heard him sing along to David’s playlist, but he’s never heard him perform, and it’s surprisingly beautiful. He finds an unoccupied high top table next to the dancefloor and lets himself look at Patrick, glowing with his performance and his love for Charlie. 

Patrick is scanning the crowd, and when he finds David he smiles his small pleased smile and holds David’s gaze as he sings about his arms yearning for wanting you. It’s simultaneously the worst thing and the best thing David has ever experienced, as so often is the case with Patrick. He’s so earnest in his performance David feels tears threatening to spill over. God, to be loved like Patrick is singing. Patrick still hasn’t looked away, and it’s almost painful how much David wishes this could all be real, wishes that he could be at this wedding with his responsible, practical, snarky, romantic boyfriend. He’d be okay, maybe, about being serenaded in front of all these strangers if Patrick was the one doing it. 

David does know it’s not real, now, knows he’s a convenient prop. It’s all he’s ever been, really. At least Patrick is nicer to him about it than anyone else ever has been. And David’s not exactly an angel. He’s used his fair share of people, for sex, for companionship, for access to drugs or parties or art that would put his gallery on the map. He’s had so much bad luck he must have been Dracula in a past life, or maybe a spin instructor. And in this life, he’s put in a lot of time and effort racking up even more bad karma. At least this weekend with Patrick can maybe count in his favor, a little. Patrick is so obviously good, so kind and sweet and stable and mature and trustworthy, that maybe helping him through this weekend is a good deed. Maybe he can just resolve to enjoy pretending, secure in the knowledge that Patrick can trust him to do this for him, like a good friend would.

Patrick is still singing, still watching David with a heavy, important gaze. If David can’t actually have this, will never have this, he can just let himself have it now. No one around them knows Patrick is pretending. Patrick doesn’t _look_ like he’s pretending, with the way he’s looking at David. He looks so focused, like he’s forgotten there’s anyone else in the room. David can’t look away from the tender, aching emotion in that look. He’s crying again, ridiculously, but who can blame him. His chest feels hot and sore, like a wound. 

Someone shouts with laughter at the bar behind him and the spell is broken. The song winds down and Patrick finally looks away at the swell of applause as Charlie yells “Give it up for the return of Static Hope!” Patrick laughs, ducking his head sheepishly at the attention, his performer’s ease evaporated. He hands the band leader back his guitar and jumps down from the stage, aiming straight for a still-recovering David. Luckily he’s slowed by people complimenting him and patting him on the back and punching him in the arm, so David has a minute to swallow and clear his throat. When Patrick finally reaches him, he pulls David in for a scorching kiss, and David’s knees nearly buckle. When Patrick releases him (absolutely, 100% too soon, 10 years from now would be too soon) David hears himself whimper a little. 

“Dance with me, David,” Patrick says, low and quiet and shatteringly gorgeous. “I have a little inside knowledge that there’s a run of slow songs coming, and I may have asked for a little Mariah Carey.” 

“Oh,” David manages, “yes, definitely, let’s go.” Patrick chuckles that possibly filthy chuckle again, and pulls him out to the floor.

“When I Saw You” _and_ “Endless Love” make it into the next ten songs, and David tries not to let himself think about the fact that he’s never been this happy and will never be this happy again. This partial happiness, this almost there but still outside-looking-in-at-happiness feeling, this will be his peak. 

“David,” Patrick says into his neck where he’s been rubbing his lips back and forth against his stubble torturously. “David, take me upstairs.” David pulls back a bit and tries to make eye contact. 

“Are you sure? You don’t want to dance more or say goodbye or anything?”

“David,” Patrick says again, looking at David with a very serious face and a simmering heat in his eyes, “please, take me upstairs.”

And after all, even sober, David is only human, so he grabs Patrick’s hand and heads towards the elevators. 

***

In the elevator, Patrick abandons all pretense of propriety and starts undoing David’s tie, unbuttoning his collar, and then nipping at David’s exposed throat. David just lets him, leaning back against the elevator wall and taking stock. David wants this. He wants Patrick so badly it hurts. Patrick seems to want this, unless they’re going to get back to the room and he’s going to say “thanks man, I really wanted to get out of there and looking like I was taking you back upstairs to fuck you seemed like a good out.” 

He lets Patrick pull him down the hall to their room and unlocks the door for him when it becomes clear that Patrick is too drunk or distracted to actually remember he needs to get his key out. Once they’re inside, David starts to say something about water, but Patrick is up against him immediately, pressing David back into the little stretch of wall next to the bathroom door and mouthing at David’s Adam’s apple. David takes his shoulders to push him away, and Patrick actually strains towards him and whines. 

“Patrick!” David says, sharply. Patrick looks up at him, but David can’t tell in the dim light how clear his eyes are. “Patrick,” he says again, more gently, “I need you to tell me what you think is about to happen here.”

“David, did you ever wonder who all the love songs were about?” Patrick says, nonsensically.

“Not once,” David lies.

“David, I wondered all the time. My whole life.” He looks sad, and not quite so determined, so David relaxes his hold. 

“Okay, let’s get you out of your nice, ‘expensive’ suit, and we can talk about it in the morning.” David starts to undo Patrick’s tie, and Patrick flies into action, kicking his shoes off and stripping out of his jacket, which David just manages to catch before it hits the gross hotel floor. He hangs it up in the closet and turns back to find Patrick already in just his boxer briefs, flopped back on David’s bed. David hangs up the rest of Patrick’s clothes, hoping he’ll fall asleep, and hangs up his own jacket and tie, but when he reaches to unbutton his pants, Patrick’s hands are there, and Patrick is plastered up against David’s back, and he’s starting to grind slightly against David. 

“Mmkay, thank you, but I don’t really need help for this,” David says, trying for amused and patient, but coming out a little strained. He removes Patrick’s hands and turns around. 

“David, please, hurry up,” Patrick says, still reaching for David. “I want this so bad.”

David’s whole body goes hot and cold, and then mostly hot again, hearing Patrick’s desperation. His resolve weakens.

“Okay, listen. Patrick, are you listening?” Patrick has reached out again to start unbuttoning David’s shirt, but dutifully looks up and nods. “If you go sit down on the bed and stay there, I will finish changing and come over and kiss you some more.” Patrick’s face changes sort of unreadably, and David backtracks. “If you still want to, I mean.”

Patrick nods rapidly. “I want to, I want so much, David, I’ve never felt like this before, I feel like a teenager,” he says breathlessly, and then seems to suddenly remember the deal and hurries over to the bed to wait. David isn’t sure he can handle looking at him, waiting in bed for David, and still keep his composure, so he turns back to the closet and finishes undressing, deciding his own underwear and a t-shirt should be enough of a barrier. 

As soon as he gets close enough, Patrick drags him down on top of him and holds David’s face with both hands, staring up at him with his cocky face, the one that usually means David is going to get mocked or bossed around. David quirks and eyebrow at him, and Patrick smirks and flips them in one swift, athletic movement. David has to gasp, suddenly on his back under Patrick, and Patrick takes advantage of his open mouth to start the kissing on a much less chaste level than they’ve attempted so far. David gets lost in it again, just as bad as in the bar the first night, but worse, because they’re on a bed, in private, and Patrick isn’t just kissing him expertly. He’s also grinding against David again, slowly, and this time David truly might die from how much he wants to get his hands on Patrick’s ass and thrust up into him. Patrick moves to get better leverage and slides his thigh higher between David’s, and then pushes to hold himself up over David with a look of wonder. He watches David’s face carefully as he rubs his thigh along David’s length, and David tries to let him see his reaction without seeing too much. 

“Fuck, David,” Patrick gasps, watching him, and then kisses him hard before pulling back and pulling David up with him. “Can I?” Patrick asks as he starts to strip David out of his shirt without actually waiting for an answer. David raises his arms and tries not to instinctively suck in his stomach or cross his arms over his chest. Patrick runs his hands down David’s shoulders and across his pecs, smoothing his chest hair and barely skimming his nipples. “God, David,” he says, awed, “I thought—my whole life, I thought I was broken somehow, but _this_....” David blinks, feeling his eyes prickle at that casual admission. 

He manages to whisper, “You’re not, you aren’t broken, Patrick.” Patrick looks up from his inspection of David’s chest to grin at him, pleased and young-looking. 

“I’m gay, David,” he says, like it might be the most obvious fact in the world, but also like it’s his absolute favorite fact he’s ever learned. David gasps out a laugh. Patrick grins at him for a bit longer and then his expression turns serious. “David, can I—can we? Can we… not just kiss?” He looks so earnest and hopeful David has to close his eyes.

David’s done lots of things for short term pleasure that ended up long term painful. This won’t be that different. At least with this, he’ll get to make it good for Patrick. A good first sexual experience with a man is what he deserves. He deserves that and so much more, but this is what’s in David’s control to give him at this moment. He may just be using David to discover what he likes, confirm that he likes men, but David will get to know, days or weeks down the line, that Patrick liked David, trusted David enough for this, this one night. He lies back again, pulling Patrick down with him, and opens his eyes to make sure he can see Patrick’s in the dim light of the bedside lamp.

“What do you want, Patrick?” 

“You.” Patrick replies quickly and unequivocally. “Just you, David.” 

David surges up against him, suddenly frantic. Patrick’s kisses are searing, and his hands are everywhere on David’s chest and shoulders and neck. David’s decided to give up breathing forever until Patrick’s hands slide up into his hair and tug and David gasps, helplessly turned on and hips bucking. Patrick kisses down David’s neck and bites his collarbone, not hard enough to mark, but hard enough to surprise a groan out of David. Patrick rolls clumsily off him to strip out of his own underwear but gets a little stuck navigating them over his feet. David takes advantage of his distraction to slide down his own and then rolls Patrick back onto him. Patrick’s groan is even louder than David’s when they finally get aligned and he realizes how wet David already is. 

“God, David, I want—I never thought I could have this,” Patrick pants into his neck. David’s pleasure suddenly tips over into too much, and he can feel that he’s crying, but he can’t do anything to stop himself. Patrick never thought he could have this with a man, and David can’t ever have this with Patrick, and he shouldn’t be letting this get so out of control. Patrick is drunk and getting carried away with finally enjoying sex for the first time, and he has the horrible luck that it’s with David. David smoothes his hands down Patrick’s broad back and down to his ass, encouraging Patrick to thrust into him harder, chasing Patrick’s pleasure. When Patrick comes, David gasps a sob under the cover of Patrick’s climax, and then quickly wipes at his face as Patrick moves up to kiss him. He lets Patrick kiss him slowly and searchingly, but stops him when Patrick reaches down David’s body.

“It’s fine, I’m fine, I already…” he rolls of the bed and heads directly into the bathroom. As silently as possible, he finishes himself off, trying to think of past partners and not Patrick’s sincere brown eyes or searching hands. He comes in record time and wets two washcloths. Patrick is still lying on his back where David dumped him, arm over his eyes and sleepy smile on his face. When David wipes him down he laughs, bright and surprised, and peeks out at him from under his arm. David hands him his boxer briefs and takes his own and his pajamas back into the bathroom with him.

With any luck, Patrick won’t remember David let this happen in the morning. David will be dressed, Patrick will be sort of dressed, he won’t have to feel ashamed about getting carried away. David comes back out to see that Patrick has tucked himself in. Really, David should sleep in Patrick’s bed, let Patrick believe he gave him the one closer to the bathroom just in case, but as he stands there Patrick rolls towards him, smiles, and without opening his eyes, stretches out a hand (in the wrong direction) and murmurs “David.” So fuck it, that’s a problem for Tomorrow David, he thinks, and climbs back in and lets Patrick snuggle into him. 

***

David wakes up warm in a way he only ever is when he has his cashmere pajama set and a sweatshirt on, neither of which he can remember packing. Patrick snores suddenly, and Tomorrow David is now just David, and David has let Patrick wrap himself completely around him and nuzzle into the hollow of his throat. All Davids in all times are in big trouble. 

He lets himself have one more minute of hot breath on his neck and smooth skin under his hands and then carefully and slowly extricates himself, a move he’s perfected over the years of walks of shame. He gives himself another second to watch Patrick curl grumpily around the pillow instead, making little grunts and scrunching his face up adorably, and then he turns abruptly away. Silently, he makes sure the blackout curtains are closed all the way, sets a water bottle and the stupid cutesy “hangover cure” kit that came in their welcome basket on the nightstand next to Patrick, and pulls on some clothes and attempts to fix his hair before sneaking out of the room with his journal. 

They don’t have to check out for another three hours, so he stops by the vending machine and little tourist shop in the lobby and then avails himself of the hotel’s waffle iron and settles in to write about anything other than this weekend. After a solid hour of brainstorming seasonal store displays—and definitely not thinking about the fact that he doesn’t actually have the money to buy out his business partner if Patrick does end up remembering last night—he gets a text.

_Where are you?_  
**Breakfast, do you want me to bring you anything?**  
_My dignity, if you can find it, and maybe coffee._

David grimaces down at his phone. Is this a standard hangover response or an “I remember everything and have never had a more shameful walk of shame” response? He just sends back a thumbs up emoji, grabs a to go cup, and heads back upstairs to find out.

Patrick is already showered and dressed in jeans and a tshirt but looks terrible. He whispers “you’re a lifesaver” as David unloads the coffee, a Gatorade, and a pair of cheap sunglasses onto the nightstand. 

David just nods and whispers “we can go as soon as I shower,” and then escapes into the bathroom with his clothes. He showers as quickly as possible, no lingering and definitely no thinking, and then uses the lowest setting on the hairdryer for the shortest amount of time he thinks he can get away with. 

Patrick still looks green around the gills, but carries David’s garment bag and his own with grim determination down to check out, already wearing the sunglasses with the price tag still sticking out over one ear. He doesn’t argue when David asks for the keys, just curls up miserably in the passenger seat and falls into an uneasy sleep. 

Unfortunately for David, that means he has almost three hours left to his own thoughts. Nothing Patrick’s done since he came back up to the room has given him an indication of how Patrick feels other than “hungover,” but he has to be regretting getting carried away. Or even if he isn’t, what is he going to think if he realizes that David doesn’t have a monstrous hangover, therefore David wasn’t as drunk, but David still had sex with him? What if he feels violated? What if he can’t be in the store with David ever again alone, or decides to, maybe, sue him or see if he can bring charges against him for taking advantage of him? Increasingly dire thoughts spin out until he actually pulls the car over so that he can put his headphones in. He drives as fast as he can back to Schitt’s Creek with his playlist that’s just called “fuck” blasting in his ears and Patrick collapsed against the window beside him. He’s never been gladder to see Ray’s, two hours and 24 minutes later. 

He parks the car out front and carefully puts Patrick’s bags inside the front door and his own by the side of the road before easing the passenger side door open. Patrick’s head is lolled back against the seat, and David crouches next to the open door and runs his hand up the inside of Patrick’s right forearm, thumb sliding over the birthmark he sometimes gets glimpses of when Patrick’s shirtsleeves are rolled up high enough. “Patrick,” he murmurs, “honey, wake up.” Patrick jerks a bit and sucks in a breath, blinking blearily at David through the cheap sunglasses.

“Where are we?” he asks, and he sounds so much like a lost little boy that David’s heart nearly cracks in two. 

“We’re home. Your stuff’s already inside, come on. You need to take more meds and go back to bed.” He leans in to unbuckle Patrick’s seatbelt and pulls him to stand up. He wavers a little, so David walks him up the front steps and hands him back his keys. 

“Thank you for coming this weekend, David. Can we talk, tomorrow?”

“We can talk whenever you like,” David says, and tries for a normal smile. “I’ll walk back to the motel. Get some rest.” He squeezes Patrick’s arm a bit and then retreats, grabbing his bags and not looking back. 

Shockingly and amazingly, Alexis isn’t home to interrogate him when he gets there. He sets everything down and thinks about taking another shower, but he suddenly, intensely feels like he doesn’t have time for that. He turns straight back around and speedwalks down to Stevie’s office. “I need you to drive me to the store, I need to be there as fast as possible,” he demands as soon as he’s opened the door.

“Hello, David, how was your weekend? Where is your shiny new boyfriend?” Stevie monotones, not looking up from her book.

“Stevie, please.” That gets her attention. She takes one look at his face and holds up her keys. 

“Thank you.” He leaves as fast as he can and it only takes him 6 minutes to be in his store, his beautiful store, all the products in their soothingly straight rows. He looks around and thinks about everything that he’s going to have to learn how to do when Patrick quits. He doesn’t even actually know all the things that Patrick does to make the store run. Before he completely overwhelms himself, he marches back to the stockroom and starts a full reorganization. 

Three hours later, he’s up to his elbows in kraft paper notebooks, trying to figure out if they have 100 more of the small size than he thought or if the box is mislabeled, when the shopkeeper’s bell rings. “We’re closed!” he calls out.

“Hi,” Patrick says from the stockroom doorway. “I was feeling better so I thought I’d drop by to see if you want dinner, but Stevie told me you had raced over here on an emergency. What’s wrong?” He’s looking around, and he’s back in his usual store uniform of a light blue button down, David’s favorite, actually, the very pale blue with a tiny light grid pattern, and he looks so good David wants to cry again. 

“Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to change something in the stockroom.” David turns his back on Patrick’s confused face, but he can hear Patrick moving closer behind him. Patrick’s hand comes into his peripheral vision and he reflexively flinches and blurts, “Don’t touch me!” Patrick pulls his hand back like he’s been burned. 

“David, what’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you alright?” The concern in his voice makes David want to rip himself apart. 

“I’m sorry, I’m fine, it’s fine, you just don’t have to—you shouldn’t touch me, anymore, now that you don’t have to. I don’t want you to think you have to keep—” he stands up, abruptly, pushes past Patrick out into the store where he can get the table between them. 

“David,” Patrick starts, following him out, but David cuts him off.

“I’m sorry, okay. I thought, it seemed like you wanted it, wanted me, but I know you were drunk, and I know you were trying to make sure Rachel knew you weren’t getting back together, and I know you wanted to try being with a man, and I know I’m your only viable option in this town and you trust me and I tried to, to earn that trust and be a good friend but I can’t really, I’m not, it turns out, so it’s okay, I’m fine, and you don’t have to touch me anymore, and I understand if you want to leave the store.” His breath is heaving out of him and he has to brace himself on the table.

“Oh my God, David.” Patrick, when David braces himself to look up, looks stricken. David immediately finds the daily SPF moisturizer in front of him fascinating. He opens his mouth, but Patrick starts again. 

“David, I’m sorry, I ruined this. I’ve done that a lot, recently, ruin things. I haven’t—I’ve lived my life, up until now, not really asking for what I want. Actually, not really understanding what I want, mostly. I moved here because I finally understood what I didn’t want, that I didn’t want the life I had with my old job, and with Rachel, and with no one, including me, actually understanding who I really was.”

David raises his eyes just enough to see that Patrick is standing stock still, fists clenched at his sides. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“Then I met you, and we opened this store, and finally, for the first time in 30 years, I understood what I actually did want and who I actually really am. I instantly admired you, David. It seems so easy for you to tell people what you want, to demand what you deserve, to say the true thing. You’re so confident in what you want and that you can ask for it.”

David’s brow wrinkles, but he keeps his eyes closed.

“And I like you, just, so much, David, and I was so happy this weekend because I felt like I could finally be the person that feels right for me to be. I felt like I could finally show these people who used to know me who I truly am, and who I truly want to be. And who I truly want to be is your boyfriend. Not just your friend, or just your business partner, and _not_ some other guy’s boyfriend. I’m sorry I hurt you by not telling you that sooner, or up front, this week, and not having the courage to correct you when you thought I wanted you to pretend. I am so sorry I hurt you, and ruined this, but this is new to me.” 

He laughs ruefully, and David’s eyes pop open. 

“Both this,” Patrick waves a hand between them, “and saying what I actually want out loud.”

David looks up at him in disbelief. “You weren’t pretending? Ever?” 

“No, David, I’m sorry, I wasn’t.” Patrick turns around to brace himself on the register counter and hangs his head. “I can… I can help you find someone to take over my duties at the store.”

David tries to get his brain back in gear. Patrick has just said that he wasn’t faking any of it, the kiss, the pet names, the sex… “The song?” he asks. “Was the song really for me?”

Patrick looks back over his shoulder. “‘These Arms of Mine’? Yeah, uh huh. That was for you, sorry.” 

“Sorry?!” David comes around to stand next to him. “I was dying, Patrick. I thought ‘nothing is ever going to compare to this moment in the rest of my life, and I am not even getting it for real.’ And it was real?” Patrick still looks so upset.

“Yes, it was.” 

“Then what the fuck are we waiting for?!” David says and reaches out to finally, finally, kiss him for real. 

***

Before David even opens his eyes he reaches across the bed for Patrick, but the sheets are cold. Frowning, he peeks one eye open to check the time on Patrick’s ancient clock radio, but it’s only 7am. He drags himself out of bed and down to the landing, where he meets Patrick coming back up, carefully carrying a heavy tray. 

“No! What are you doing here?!” Patrick says, carefully stopping so the coffee doesn’t slosh. 

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here, making breakfast in bed on a random Tuesday!” David crosses his arms indignantly, but relents and turns around to go back upstairs when he realizes he’s never been able to out-stubborn Patrick in his life, and if he concedes he’ll get to actually eat the breakfast in bed as Patrick obviously planned. 

He gets back in bed and lets Patrick hand him the tray so Patrick can get back in as well. When they are both settled and he’s kissed his thank you into Patrick’s lips and cheeks, David takes a bite of pancake and says “Okay, no, really, what is the occasion? Did I forget something? It’s not the day we met, or the day we opened the store, or the day we got together, or the day we closed on the house, _or_ the day we got married! Did you invent a new one?”

Patrick smiles and leans into him, careful not to jostle the tray or inhibit any pancake consumption. “Sort of,” he admits, bashful even after all this time. “I just remembered it, last night, when I was boxing up some early store records, and I wanted to do something.”

“Is it a store-related thing, then? The day you brought the business license?” Patrick’s still leaned into him so David can’t see his face, but David raises his fork towards him anyway and Patrick takes the offered bite.

“You’ll think it’s silly,” he says, when he’s finished chewing, “but it’s the day I had to take you to urgent care because you sliced your finger open. Our fake anniversary.”

“Our _fake_ anniversary? But that was just a dumb cover story for your friends, wasn’t it?” He knows, based on the breakfast, that it clearly wasn’t even though he had always assumed it was. Actually, David had thought he’d been the one to suggest it, even, joking about Patrick kissing it and making it better, but as he thinks back over the last three years, he’s pretty sure it had been Patrick’s suggestion to use that specific day. He puts his knife and fork down and tips Patrick’s chin up to make eye contact. “Honey, why is today a special day? Why did you suggest it at Charlie’s wedding?” 

Patrick is still smiling a little bashfully, like he can still be embarrassed by his own sentimentality, or like he thinks David doesn’t love it wholeheartedly. “I suggested it, then, because it was the day I was going to ask you out. I had decided, and mustered the courage, and I was going to tell you I had been trying to ask you out for weeks. Right as I said ‘David, would you…’ there was a crash and Alexis shrieked. I might have still managed it but everything happened so quickly after that, with you kicking her out and then cutting your finger.” He curls himself back into David’s side. 

David kisses the top of his sweet, romantic head and decides to trade him secret for secret. “I dreamed this, back then,” he says. Patrick sits back up to give him his full attention.

“What, when?” he asks.

“That weekend, Charlie’s wedding, I woke up the morning of the wedding from a dream that we were married and you had made me pancakes. We were in a kitchen, and we were kissing, and I never actually got to eat the pancakes in the dream, which is a shame now that I know how great my husband is at making pancakes.” He smiles at Patrick, and Patrick leans in for more kisses. 

“So,” Patrick says as he pulls back, and David can tell from his face the sweet moment is over. “If I understand you correctly, baby, you’re telling me I literally make your dreams come true?” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, but David just rolls his eyes.

“If you want ‘almost anniversary’ sex, you’re just going to have to wait until I finish these pancakes,” he says, shoving a large bite in his mouth and chewing exaggeratedly. 

Patrick’s face turns fond again. “Happy almost anniversary, David,” he says, and leans back in to kiss David’s chewing cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> For mobile users:  
Dubious consent warning: Patrick gets drunk and wants to have sex with sober David, and David lets him, despite knowing that he is drunk. Patrick does not regret this encounter, but David worries that it was not consensual.  
Self-harm warning: David clenches his fist around a tie tack to wound his palm to distract himself when he feels a panic attack building.


End file.
